


Twinge

by way1203



Series: Touch-Starved Creeds [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Allies To Lovers, Awkward Romance, Brief Helmet Removal, Conflicting Creeds, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Din Djarin, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Mando, Gentleness, Headaches & Migraines, Mandalorian Culture, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Mando, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/way1203/pseuds/way1203
Summary: You could practically feel the discomfort radiating off his beskar. You wondered if his cheeks were pink.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: Touch-Starved Creeds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599439
Comments: 26
Kudos: 400





	Twinge

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this partially because I haven’t written in months and I needed something to help me shake this block. I mostly wrote this because I had a migraine and wanted to explore Din/Mando’s soft side. This contains mentions of periods (nothing graphic), past kidnapping of the child, and migraines.

"We'll reach the closest port in a couple of hours." There was a distinctive thud of the Mandalorian's boots that came after he climbed down the ladder. "I'll need to refuel. Get more cargo."

At least that's what you thought he said. He wasn't the type to give you lengthy explanations about where he was flying, but he'd gotten into the habit over the last week or two. The short statements quickly turned into him providing you with actual descriptions of locations and time estimations, and today was no exception. It would have been particularly endearing if focusing on his voice hadn't become increasingly difficult. When you remained silent, he took four steps toward the bay where you lay curled in on your side.

"Hey. I said—"

" _I heard_ ," you acknowledged, a bit more forcefully than intended.

His head tilted. If you didn't know any better, there was a slight irritation—or was it unease?—working its way across him. The blinking of one of the lights behind him seemed brighter than it did when you initially crawled into his bunk. You squinted at the gentle light and knew that your headache had crossed over into a migraine.

"Mando." Kriff, was that a bit of cracking in your tone? You swallowed and adjusted. "Please."

He straightened. Your breath hitched. He was smart enough to hear the shift, to know you didn't say 'please' often, and to recognize that this time was far different from the others. It wasn't begging for the continuation of his touch, it wasn't accompanying a pout or following an exasperating request. It was a quiet plead, a near-silent request meant for him in this moment.

"Din..."

That was all it took. He knelt beside you and studied your face from behind his visor. You hadn't made a habit of saying his name. Not that you didn't want to use it—in fact, you wanted to say it constantly, and savor all the ways it could taste on your tongue—you just opted not to because you understood the value of knowing it. The weight of those three letters were worth much more than the beskar used to forge his armor. The intimacy of his name made it that much more important to you. You wouldn't and couldn't abuse it with overuse. He'd told it to you one night a month ago as he comforted you, his guard partially down after you'd shared your past with him. As your conversation progressed into something more, The Mandalorian showed tenderness toward you as you had each other. It was the second time since you'd met him, the first being a rushed means to an end you both desperately needed. His gentleness continued as he held you close in the afterglow and told you his name. He trusted you. You wouldn't take that thoughtlessly and he knew that.

Of course at the use of his name he'd be at your side. You shouldn't have been surprised and yet...

"What's wrong?" Mando pressed.

You gave a shake of your head and instantly regretted it. The dull throbbing in your skull grew more intense at the motion. A leather-clad thumb gently brushed against your cheekbone. You flinched when he withdrew his hand.

"You're crying."

The drop of salt water on his glove caught your attention before you recognized its feeling on your skin. "Kriff."

"Let me help."

"I don't think—"

"Please?"

It was his turn use that word out of its usual context in your relationship. You lifted your hand to your cheek and quickly swept away a few more tears. He continued staring at you from behind the helmet. The expectation of your explanation hung heavy in the air. You'd been traveling with him long enough, this would be the fourth month to be exact, but this hadn't been a problem before. Well, it had, but you'd done well to hide it from him. Hiding was a coping mechanism born out of necessity from the last place you'd been. _Always be victorious. Never show weakness. Hold your tongue. Take it. Keep moving_. The creed was littered with phrases that ruled you and made you fearful to show any sort of vulnerability to another person. It was what you were taught. It was in the treatments they'd doled out. It was how they made you into who you were. You wondered what they'd think of the person lying in a Mandalorian's bunk. _A pathetic waste_.

"Hey." The low rumble of Mando's softened voice nearly took you off guard. He said your name. When you didn't respond, he pressed, "From what you've told me before, it's clear that it is not in your nature to accept help from others without damning yourself to feelings of weakness."

He was right. You felt silly for being curled up in his bed and ridiculous for crying. You were weak. The tears came partially because you felt pathetic for allowing yourself to acknowledge your own pain, but mostly because he came to you with the goal of wanting to help. Had you seemed that helpless? They'd chastise you for this. You were too accustomed to having to hide everything that now you'd been too open at the first sign of care. You weren't one of them. Not when something as minor as the combination of a migraine and cramps left you like this. You nearly scoffed at your own thoughts. There was nothing minor about the combination nor your pain. You didn't have to take it or refuse help. You wondered if Mando really _was_ starting to influence you. If he was, was that necessarily a bad thing?

"Listen to me. No one who flies with me on the Crest is weak. Well...except maybe the bounties." When you didn't crack at smile at his joke, Mando sighed. "If you won't let me help you, will you at least tell me what is wrong?" The unspoken _because I'm worried_ made you shift your right hand away from your lower stomach.

Care from anyone still felt foreign to you. He understood that and did what he could to show you a fair bit of distance for every ounce of concern. You weren't sure how or when it happened, but Mando knew how to handle you. During the times you needed it most, he was so gentle with you. You suspected it was because the child had likely softened him before you met. Well, that, or it was because Mando had parents who nurtured him before he was adopted and raised in the Way of the Mandalore. He walked big and bad, fought big and bad, but beneath it all he had a heart and it showed.

"Mando, what's wrong is…" you swallowed your pride and said, "...it's a new cycle."

"What do you mean?" asked Mando.

His isolation was showing again. You shut your eyes and adjusted your position to dodge that pesky light. When you opened them, the Mandalorian had blocked your view of it. Slight relief flowed through your head. "My monthly... _you know_...cycle."

He remained quiet and for a moment you thought he understood. Then you realized he really didn't. You sighed and blurted, "My _period_ , Mando."

"Your...?"

"My period! You know, that _thing_ that ladies get once a month? With bl—"

"Oh... _Oh!_ " Mando gave a sharp intake of breath then cleared his throat. "Um...right. Of course."

You could practically feel the discomfort radiating off his beskar. You wondered if his cheeks were pink. Something, be it guilt or the side effects of the migraine, churned your stomach. Your face felt hot. Adjusting your tone, you tried to smooth things over. "It's okay. I mean, you were solitary for a long time so it's not something you've had to experience or really deal with." _Until me_ , you wanted to add, but the conversation was awkward enough. "It hurts for a day or two sometimes. I get pain in my stomach or migraines or occasionally, like today, both. I just need to lie down or ignore it. Take it. Keep moving."

The realization of what that meant for the last few months showed in the lift of his head. "I never knew."

You scoffed. "That was kind of the point."

"What I meant was that you hid it well before."

It was true. You'd spent the last three months on the Razor Crest and each cycle saw you actively working to mask your pain. When migraines weren't the culprit, you'd wait until he and the child were asleep to curl in on yourself and succumb to the twinges working their way through your pelvis. Sometimes you'd sit with him in the cockpit and wait for the pain relief balm to take effect, all the while keeping a brave face when the aches got to be more than you could take. If it was a migraine, those were harder to hide. You'd opt to clean areas of the ship far from the lights of the cockpit or go to bed early. Often though, you'd work very hard to pretend like it didn't feel as if there were Jawas scavenging matter from your brain.

Last month, your carefully crafted facade began to crumble because the child looked at you with an expression that nearly broke your heart. He could sense something with you wasn't right and he spent the better part of the afternoon fussing. Mando immediately noticed this change in the child's demeanor. He tried to figure out what was wrong, but his little green son grew more upset at his inaction. Meanwhile, your migraine grew more intense and the pain medicine you'd taken earlier hadn't helped. The child began to cry and tug at his father's sleeve, all while pointing at you and cooing. He finally calmed when Mando asked if you were okay. You lied and feigned fatigue before brushing off his concern. He tabled it but spent the evening looking at you with what you imagined was deep worry behind that visor.

You felt so transparent now that Mando knew the truth.

"I admit that I can be unobservant," began Mando, "but, if this is your reality during this, then you did a great job at hiding it from me."

"I tried," you admitted.

"I know, and you didn't have to. Am I that...did I make you feel as though you can't come to me when you're not feeling well?"

"No. It's not all you, Mando. _You know that._ "

"I know part of this is due to your creed, but do you think I'd think you weak for this? You're anything but weak—for this, or any other sign of emotion or pain. You're worthy of help."

His comment breaks you. Everything they taught you is so easily unraveled by him, his voice modifier, and his care. You somewhat hate it. You allowed a sob to stumble past your lips.

This alarms him. He stretches his hand toward your shoulder but stops. His hands helplessly hover over you as if he's unsure whether or not touching will actually help. "I...What...did I say something to...?"

"No, nothing," you sniff, trying to reassure him. "It's just, you're right, and I can't help it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I just..." You found it hard to say anything because he was right. He had you figured out. He had since your second week on the Crest, really. You couldn't undo the years of training and the treatments forced upon you and Mando understood that. He'd even respected your creed until the moment he nearly broke part of his own for you.

Just over a month ago, someone took the child. The two of you fought like hell to get him back. The fools who took him severely harmed you in the process and you'd nearly died. If Mando were to tell the story, you'd actually died. He hadn't felt your pulse after he pulled you from the water. He told you how he took off his gloves, tried your neck and wrists again for good measure, and found nothing. There wasn't time nor additional help because the people you'd called allies had followed the plan, running toward safety on the Razor Crest with the child. It was you and him. He didn't hesitate. Mando's heart pounded as he set to work. He tried to revive you, pressing your chest in a hurried effort to pump the liquid from your body. He removed his helmet to give you air from his lungs. Mando repeated the process, unsure of how many times, growing increasingly certain that he’d lost you, until he gave one last pump and you were coughing up sludge and water from the galactic cess as he slipped the helmet back on. You didn't see his face. No one did. The only things you vaguely remembered were the weight of his palms and the sensation of his mouth against yours just before you sat upright and spewed. Later, you remembered briefly seeing his helmet in the sand.

Mando didn't talk to you for a while after that. Three days to be exact. Most of that time you spent in his makeshift medbay on the mend. You had no recollection of how you made it back to the Crest. The child attempted to heal the remainder of your minor injuries but you wouldn't let him do more than the deep cut on your knee for fear you'd tire him out. You healed slowly, your lungs requiring the most attention. When Mando finally spoke to you, you asked him why he saved you. He told you that it wasn't a question. Saving you wasn't an option. You supposed Mando had reconciled what he'd done for you and you acknowledged just how much he'd sacrificed. He shared a few aspects of his creed. You wound up telling him all of yours. It was after that that Mando began to unravel the pieces of your upbringing.

You wanted to slap yourself. He'd saved you and saw you through recovery, yet you were still too ashamed to let him help you in this moment. The throbbing in your head grew worse now that you'd been crying. You wince. Of course, he immediately takes notice.

"What do you need?" When you don't answer, he brings a hand to your forehead. "What makes it hurt more? You moved earlier. Is it the light?"

"Yes."

He stands and flips a few switches, shutting off as many of the remaining lights in the area as he could. It's not total darkness but it's enough that it helps. However, that one blinking light remains. He seems to notice and moves to shift something to cover it. "Better?" Mando asks when he returns to you.

"Much." You press your fingertips to the corners of your eyes. "Thank you."

"What else can I do?"

"That was a lot. It will pass."

"Are you comfortable? Do you need water?"

You smiled. When did he become such a mother hen? "I'm comfortable. No water please. I feel a bit nauseous because of the migraine. I'll be shiny and new again after I get some rest. I'm sorry I took your bed."

"Don't worry about it. It's better you're in it anyway."

"What d'you mean?" You asked.

"You sleep better in my bed. We both do."

The slight smirk in his voice pricked your ears. "Mando."

He chuckled and slid off his boots. You rolled over, opting to face the wall to grant him privacy as he began removing his armor. A wave of pain crashed through your lower stomach and radiated to your lower back. You tried breathing through it with a few shallow breaths. Instead, you found yourself whimpering when the pelvic pangs ebbed and the ache in your temple flowed.

"You hid this from me." It wasn't an accusation. If you didn't know any better, he was surprised. You wondered how he'd react when he realized the lengths you went to to hide other aspects of your period.

He crawled into bed behind you, one bare hand settling on your hip, the other slipping beneath your shoulder. He scooped you closer to him. You allowed yourself to be enveloped by his arms. Taking comfort in his touch, you leaned your back against his chest. He kneaded circles against your skin with his thumb. A groan tumbled in your throat.

"Try to relax," he said.

Another crash of your muscles tightening and twinging made you hiss. He shushed you. His hands moved towards the source of your pain. It wasn't an effort to relax your body when he was massaging you like this. You tried to focus on his motions instead of your aches. You sighed and felt your eyes close. "Mando?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"I'm not done. Keep your eyes closed."

"Okay."

He stopped briefly, just long enough for you to hear the soft thump of his helmet on the pillow above you. His hands returned to you and his mouth found your temple. He planted a gentle kiss against your skin, then another against your hairline, followed by another and another until he worked his way behind your ear. The sensation was more soothing than you'd expected. You imagined him easing away the pain with each press.

"Din..." you sighed. You longed to admire his features. Instead, you reveled in the softness of his lips and the slight tickle of stubble and mustache against your ear.

"I know I can't make it better but I hope this helps."

You hummed. Maker, that voice! It wasn't fair that it could sound equally appealing with and without modification. You swallowed the moan in your throat. He grinned against your skin and pressed another kiss against your cheekbone, all the while his hands continued working your lower spine. You gasped. It really wasn't fair what he did to you. If it wasn't for your fatigue and the slight nausea this migraine brought, you'd take full advantage of this moment and show him how much this meant. But it would have to wait. For now, you'd savor it all.

Mando said your name and granted you another kiss to your temple. "May I?"

"Please?" You heard the desperation dripping from your voice. "If you don't, I will."

Waiting in the darkness behind your lids felt like an eternity. Then that mouth found yours and for a moment you couldn't breathe. It shouldn't have been a surprise when he'd asked and you'd nearly begged an answer. You took a breath, finally releasing that pent-up moan, before your lips melded with his once more. You slid your hands up the familiar sides of his neck and around the curve of his jaw. You settled them on his shoulders because you needed something to ground you. Mando's fingers cradled the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. Maker, his taste! You found it hard to remember the last time he'd kissed you like this. He nipped at your lip. You savored him in return. You missed his tongue, his lips, his teeth. From his eagerness, you knew he'd missed yours too. Mando's hands settled on your hip and lower back. He granted you a few more kisses, a few more moments of touch. Then his hands left you and you heard them against his helmet. There was shifting, the sound of metal on the pads of his fingers, a click, a tap. You finally opened your eyes.

"Did that help?" he asked.

You nod. "Thank you. You don't—"

"I do."

"You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did. For both of us."

He was right. You'd both needed it. The suppressive aspects of your respective creeds created to two touch-starved adults who were now in very close quarters, fighting for each other in the name of a child. You and Mando had grown closer yet you both still kept your distances. You'd given yourself to each other a few times. He'd identified gray areas in a couple of aspects of his creed because you'd shed a number of yours for him. He'd risked so much for the child, so much for you, and you for them.

"I love you." Realizing what you said, you pulled yourself back so quickly you nearly smacked against the wall. Your temple ached at the sudden motion and you had to grab onto his forearms for support. You hadn't said it to him before. If you were completely honest, you couldn't remember the last time you'd said the phrase to anyone or heard it said to you in return. Shame floods you. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said—it's too soon. I—"

Mando lifts your chin. His touch startles you as he closes the gap you created. You feel his eyes through the visor. "Don't apologize. I haven't heard those words since...or in..."

"A while?"

"Longer than I care to admit."

"You earned them."

He makes a soft noise, not quite a gasp or a groan. He says your name and you wish you could see his face. "I...If you meant it when you said it, please...say it again?"

You don't hesitate. "Din, I love you." Your smile falters as you wince. Though the cramps seemed to have succumbed to the balm, the migraine won't let up. You squint and grimace. Why did it have to ruin this moment?

"Try to get comfortable." He's all business again. The switch in his tone gives you permission to bring your hand to your temple and settle your head against his pillow. He spreads the blanket over your waist. "I'll make you tea. Stay here."

"I don't really think I'll be going anywhere other than the vac." Even that seems like a feat, you thought. If changing positions with your head led to pain, you didn't want to think about what would happen if you attempted to stand up and move to another area of the ship.

Mando set a bin beside the bunk. "In case you still feel nauseous."

You hum and close your eyes. When you open them again, Mando's returned with your tea and a cool, damp piece of cloth. Soon, he's settled behind you pressing the cloth to your temples as you sip the chamomile. You're surprised to find that, combined with the darkened room, the tea and compress seem to help. When you're done, you set your mug on a ledge and lean your head back against his shoulder. Going to sleep again seems like a great idea. You open your mouth to thank him when he begins to speak.

"I need to tell you something."

"Oh? What is it?"

"You told me earlier but I didn't get a chance to tell you back." Mando turns your face toward his, your name leaving his mouth with a weight that immediately captures your attention. "I love you, too."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Mando."

"I mean it. I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier. I was...your pain took my attention and I didn't—"

"Din." You place your hands on either side of his helmet. "It's okay. Really."

"It’s not." His hands cover your wrists and he slowly lowers his arms until your fingers slip away from the metal surrounding his face. You know that that part of his creed is non-negotiable, and he knows you wouldn’t, but it doesn’t stop you from wishing you could or that he’d remove the helmet for you so you could see his expression. His thumbs slide over your veins and palms. Somehow you know he means it as his replacement for kissing them. "I should have told you when you told me. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Good."

"Good?" You chuckle. "There's the Mandalorian I know. Was there anything else?"

Mando nods. "In a few days, after I catch the next bounty and when you're feeling better, I plan to show you how much I love you. Does that sound okay?"

"More than okay. I'll gladly take that rain check."

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans to possibly write about that rain check...


End file.
